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Good Morrow, patient and understanding Reader,
You at least realise that I’m 87 and a little forgetful; so I’m going to bring my diary up to date, but I can’t guarantee any sense or logic…not after losing my car keys and then searching the driveway and garden with a torch at midnight only to discover I had left them in my winter coat! It’s a good thing no-one saw me skulking about in my dressing gown or my reputation as a matinee idol might have been tarnished! It gave the cheeky son-in-law more room for mockery, especially as my mobile died due to lack of use and he muttered something about it being as decrepit as me. Well, I got him back. I got it fixed and rang the wally and he didn’t ‘make the connection’ and asked why I was bothering him! There’s a word for him, but I’m too polite to use it. Mind you, he did help me fix my TV and satellite thingy. Now, according to smart Alec, all I have to do is press button no.1 and no.2.
That reminds me. I’ve had a little problem with number ones, if you catch my flow. (Trouble is, my flow has been intermittent, non-existent or omnipresent!) I started by trying ‘decapitated’ coffee, as some ‘hexpert’ said that would help. Caffeine had been doing my head in. That didn’t help and so I decided to insult, sorry consult my doc, Ima Gunna-Killyall. I told her about my dodgy plumbing and how many trips I made to the loo in the night. She smirked and said, “Your prostate clearly doesn’t like being prostrate!” Don’t you just hate it, when people laugh at their own jokes? At least she didn’t get the rubber gloves out. She’s already a pain in the derrière without that indignity. We have to wait for the blood tests, but you may have to excuse me in a minute! The son-in-law thought it was hilarious and said I was just like my TV and had a ‘wobbly wire’! I wish I could fix things myself, without getting a ‘wee’ man in. Then I could be properly ‘left to my own devices’? Boom, boom! (Sorry, had to do that one!) I’m just glad the doc didn’t ask about my alcohol intake, ‘cos I hate to lie to a lady.
Anyway, I’m sure you’re wondering about the title and if not, why not? I’m alluring to the fact that I carry round the story of my day on my shirts. You see, soupspoons leak as you get older-might as well be a fork! I can’t lean forward due to my rotundity (My jelly-wobbler as I call it!) and I might lose balance and fall into my ‘Brown Windsor’! I’m never done wiping stuff off my shirts. How can I keep up my rep as a sex symbol with strange brown marks all over my front? Never mind that, I’ve just discovered that my white linen trousers are see-through when the sun shines. I wondered about the raised eyebrows. Now I realise it was a ‘Lady Di’ fashion faux pas and my ‘crown jewels’ were on display.
Did I tell you I visited the rellies recently? Well, it was very pleasant, except that I always eat at a table and I was often obliged while there to eat on the armchair. Well, let’s just say that cottage pie and chicken tikka massala are hard to get out of white linen! I made my return home yesterday, my big comeback, like Frank Sinatra or Elvis. Mind you, if they make a comeback now, I would be more frightened than entertained?! Talking of the ol’ black humour, they say that 12 people are struck by lightning every year, mostly golfers. That dozen must be rightly ‘teed’ off by now! By the way, do you know a lady called ‘Val Yum’? It’s just my lawyer says he can’t keep away from someone called ‘Val Yum’ since he started checking my diary entries. She sounds very exotic!
Did I tell you I had to put the son-in-law right the other day? He insisted his property faced southwest like my gorgeous chateau. I bought him a compass and asked him to check. He says he’s correct. The compass must be duff. I’ll have to get another one! Never mind that! I forgot about my clutch. Yes, I was driving along in the ‘peepmobile’ and something went “bedoing” and no, it wasn’t me. Then I had to phone the rescue service. At least I had my darn mobile. With car repairs, you’re always ‘in the hands of the Philistines’, aren’t you? You just never know when they are ‘booting you in the clutch’ over the price. The emergency man brought me to a local dealer (Sounds like drugs, but no, nothing that off the Richter scale!) and after a wallet-lightening experience, I was on the road again.
I wasted no time in going to the ‘Pound shop’ and bought Rod Stewart’s Greatest Tits, sorry Hits and an Irish ‘diddlydee’ album, as we call them here. Well, Irish music is super in a pub with a few pints, but in the clear light of day, it’s all ‘diddlydee’ and the same tune with slightly different words!
Talking about words, have you been to ‘Ikea’? The daughter dragged me round there the other day. Said the change of scenery would do me good. Well, I might as well have climbed Annapurna (No innuendo intended, but please yourselves!) without an oxygen pack. My little Irish ‘diddly-dee’ legs were not meant to yomp for hundreds of leagues past false room layouts and products with ridiculous names. There was even a ‘Billy’ (No doubt, in my honour!). Half way round, I refused to move without a gallon of free coffee and some balls- Swedish meatballs. Nothing, however, could prepare me for the ‘Market hall’, like ’Supermarket Sweep’ without Dale Winton and no sign of anyone with a tan. Everyone was pasty from shopping inside on Northern Ireland’s only sunny day! My job was to push the trolley while my daughter loaded it up with ‘essentials’ and then to the auto checkout, where I had my usual argument with the machine. Yes, they are out to get me!
Yes, those Ikea things have funny names, but what’s in a name? Well, Shakespeare may have had a point, but it’s hard to be philosophical if you’re called Euripides Knickersoff or something! Anyway, have to run, now that Ireland’s economy has been downgraded to ‘junk’ status and everywhere else, even the USA is going ‘down the Swanee’, I’m off to the ‘pound’ shop to stock up with emergency essentials, like a dvd on how to repair your own clutch in an emergency. That could come in handy?!
Yours sailing down the Swanee, though still have my shirt, although it’s a little stained,
The blogging Gogfather